Unless you’ve come back from studying abroad in New Zealand (or, like me, returned from your off term genuinely thinking Foco had switched to disposable plates and utensils when you ate there Sunday…), you’re excited to be back on campus for what’s to be an awesome term.

Huzzah, winter term is finally drawing to a close! First you have to overcome the seventh circle of hell known as finals, but remember that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel—spring break!
Sure, winter in Hanover this year wasn’t as brutal as it’s been in the past, but then again, it wasn’t Florida.

I took this article in my quest to expose the capital “T” truth about Dartmouth. As an upperclassman, I feel an obligation to tell things as they are and not as the administration or wide-eyed ’19s see them.

'Twas the end of week nine and all through the halls,
Every student was studying (in between bawls);
All their textbooks were lugged to Blobby with care,
In hopes that great grades soon would be theirs;
The lucky ones, nestled all snug in their beds,
Had visions of spring classes dance in their heads;
New profs and new classmates, and needing to look,
Online to buy all the required textbooks;
And inside their brains there arose such a clatter;
Just how will they pay for these books?

The phrase “walk of shame” usually refers to returning home in the harsh morning sun after having spent the night with another individual doing things neither your mother nor College President Phil Hanlon would approve of.

Margaret Jones ’19:
No no no no no
No no no no no no no
No no no no no
PJ Bigley ’17:
Kill me kill me please
Kill kill kill kill kill kill kill
Kill me kill me please
Joseph Regan ’19:
Move on 1 too hard
What the fuck is 2 asking
Fuck me back to 1
Lucy Tantum ’19:
Dinner at Novack
But not the vending machine
That will be next week
Lauren Budd ’18:
I hate rocks for jocks
This is not a layup class
Be warned, stay away
Sam Forstner ’18:
Week 9 is grim.

It’s week nine and thatmeans a few things: first, longer hours in the library and at KAF; second, your New Year’s Resolution to go to the gym regularly is as dead as the Old School; third, your DBA is lower than your self-esteem while shoveling mac and cheese bites into your face hole; and last,if you’re affiliated, you’ve procrastinated doing your philanthropy hours and are at severe risk of having to pay the iron price (akahaving no evidence to support your claimthat being Greek isn’t just about having awelcoming, tightly-knit community of low-key drunks.)
But imagine if “phil hours” didn'tjust mean tabling for a fundraiser or donatingblood.